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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426088">Mark 5</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifeofnarwhal/pseuds/knifeofnarwhal'>knifeofnarwhal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VIII, Pacific Rim (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Drift Compatibility, Gen, Tags May Change, but i dont have a degree in canon so here we are, theres cloti but its ancillary, wanted to write a tifa-centric story</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:14:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifeofnarwhal/pseuds/knifeofnarwhal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tifa joins the Jaegar Program.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tifa Lockhart &amp; Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mark 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i wrote this after scouring the cloud/tifa cloud&amp;tifa tag for pacific rim fic to cater to my apparently niche tastes</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tifa's fifteen when Cloud sneaks her a note asking to meet him at the well in the middle of the Nibelheim township. It’s not necessarily the quintessential spot for a love confession given how <em>out in the open</em> it is, but she knows better than to judge—it trumps hiking all the way up Mt. Nibel and then awkwardly hiking all the way back down with a boy crying beside her. Town well where she can clearly pick out people hiding behind their curtains to spy on them? An unconventional choice sure, but not one she's going to complain about. By now all the village boys have had their turn, except Cloud, which makes the whole thing seem kind of inevitable somehow.</p><p>And kind of obvious. Cloud stares when he thinks she isn’t looking and it’s cute that he thinks he’s being subtle about it. He <em>is </em>cute, in a puppy dog sort of way—but he's never talked to her, never so much as <em>smiled</em> at her, so...</p><p>She makes the five-minute trek from her house with a pit of dread in her stomach and rejection speech ready for deployment. Usually, she just says 'no' because her father taught her the word itself is a whole and complete answer, but this is Cloud. He's the boy who found her crying in his back garden during her mother's wake at eight years old and sat sentinel beside her until her dad came knocking. So he gets more than a 'no'. He gets a 'no' and a few gentle words to nudge him in the direction of a girl in their village who does like him <em>that way,</em> to soften the blow.</p><p>Which, ultimately turns out to be time wasted fretting over, because Cloud announces that he's shipping out to Junon tomorrow instead, and Tifa nearly overbalances off the well, staring at him like he'd sprouted a second head. It takes her a few seconds to realise he’s reacted in time and caught her by the arm.</p><p>"You okay?"</p><p>Okay, so maybe Cloud wasn't staring at her because he liked her <em>that way</em> after all. Awkward. “Uh yeah just fine. Just caught me off guard is all,” Tifa says, cheeks heating up as he lets go. The grip had been surprisingly firm. <em>Sure</em>. She starts swinging her feet in a bid to remain casual about the whole thing. “Why Junon?”</p><p>“To become a jaegar pilot,” Cloud says, gaze resolute and focused on a distant point only he can see. “Got my acceptance letter to the program in the mail a few weeks back."</p><p>Talk about dramatic timing. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? We could’ve…" Had a farewell party? She knows he’s not big on crowds, but <em>still</em>. It’s the polite thing to do. </p><p>"You were practising for your recital. Your dad...told me." He adds, when Tifa glances over in surprise. </p><p>'Told', Tifa is sure, is Cloud being polite, because they both know her dad doesn't particularly like him, despite the irony of the man being perfectly okay with her making trips up and down the mountain with every other boy in the village. Sometimes she wonders if dad’s under the impression Cloud’s the only one capable of hurting her and the logic is silly beyond comprehension. She knows martial arts, has been practicing it for seven years now. </p><p>It’s everyone else who should be afraid of getting hurt by her.</p><p>"Do you think you'll be in the news?" Tifa asks. "You could put our whole town on the map, make us all proud. You'd be the next homegrown hero. The next Sephiroth."</p><p>"I'll try. It'll be hard, but it'll be worth it.” He leans back to look up at the stars. “Something I’ve always wanted.”</p><p>Tifa's feet slow down to a halt. There’s a conviction in that soft-spoken voice that invokes a sudden kinship in her. Much in the way an artist may recognise another for their dedication to a craft despite the differences in mediums used. Even the way they're sitting on the well is something she takes note of: not beside each other, but adjacent and turned towards different directions—a crossroads of sorts. </p><p>"Hey," Tifa says, and when Cloud glances over, she smiles. "When you make it. Promise me something will you...” </p><p> </p><p>The Battle of Nibelheim happens two years after Cloud leaves. A Breach opens up in the heart of Mt. Nibel, a kajiu clawing its way out of the volcano's mouth in a surprise attack. What Tifa remembers of that night comes in flashes: father unbuckling his seatbelt, father throwing his entire body forward to shield her when a flick of the kaiju's barbed tail sends their truck careening down a ravine. The crunch of steel. The crunch of bone. Seventeen year-old Tifa, once-promising martial arts apprentice and piano prodigy, now a mangled mess of broken limbs. Powerless to stop the life fading from her father's eyes while he smiles at her from a few feet away. The inferno engulfing the township as he finally goes still.</p><p>Tifa's whole world turning red and then black. </p><p> </p><p>When Tifa finally wakes, it is two months later in a long term care facility—Wutai of all places— mostly healed with 'surprisingly no physical brain trauma', according to the attending physician. Zangan was an old friend of Godo Kisaragi’s from 'the bad old days': the early years of the Jaegar-Kaiju war when they were just getting the hang of the two-pilot system. The head scientist, having found little guaranteed success in the way of psychometric testing had brought the two men on board to test a radical new approach to drift compatibility—kwoon combat, of all things.  </p><p>“For all the upgrades in jaegar tech, it’s the one thing that’s remained constant,” Godo says, proudly while they have dinner that night. “The only simulation where results can be seen and actually <em>stick.</em>  Nothing like a sharp strike to the wrist to teach the body to hone its reflexes better; ‘til one moves without needing to think.”</p><p>“Well, <em>yeah</em>,” Tifa says with a laugh. Anyone who’s ever stepped foot in the kwoon knows that. She doesn’t get how it ties into compatibility, though. </p><p>"Oho, but I’m not just talking about muscle memory,” Godo wags a finger, almost as if he’s read her mind. “Sometimes, the only way to truly know a person is to fight them. A single punch will tell you all you need to know about their resolve. It's not <em>really</em> fighting, more of a dialogue between souls. One fight and you say all you need to say. And if you're lucky your partner hears you and--" </p><p>He thrusts his arm forward suddenly, hurling a chopstick at her head. Tifa jerks backwards, falling out of her chair with a crash as it embeds itself in the wall behind her head. </p><p>“Tch. Not quite there I see,” Godo mutters, shaking his head.</p><p> </p><p>Tifa spends a year in Wutai helping Zangan with his students. Drilling the proper forms into the newer ones, and supervising their more experienced counterparts in the sparring circle; sparring with them herself when Zangan deigns them competent. Tifa defeats them all, soundlessly. Not so much riding a bike, but remembering the steps of a complicated dance. Knowing she's ‘still got it’ is meant to be a comfort, but master's words from the other night lances through everything, and the innate sense that all of those encounters have been less dialogues and more one-sided conversations (monologues, even), renders every victory hollow. </p><p>There’s a grand piano in the condo where Godo has them stay. Tifa doesn’t touch it except to dust it off when she cleans. </p><p>“You’ve outgrown this place,” Zangan says, the night they’re at Turtle’s Paradise to ring in the New Year. Tifa had picked a corner table in the pub to sequester herself in a bid to both show face as her master’s student and have some semblance of quiet to herself. Around her neck is a chain of fresh marigolds Yuffie draped over her head when the congo line passed through—Tifa's been worrying at the petals all night. </p><p>Tifa pauses and looks up. “Outgrown?”</p><p>Zangan sways unsteadily in front of her, his entire face and neck tinged red from drink, a flower crown of violets on his head. “Wutai," he says. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”</p><p>Tifa watches him drop heavily into the seat across from her. Wutaian sake always was Zangan's weakness, Godo said. Looks like the man was right. </p><p>“I’m happy here,” Tifa says. It's quiet, and the air is fresh, and the people are friendly but not so friendly as to poke around in her business. A place she could disappear into if she wanted. A place she's started disappearing into, if she's being honest.</p><p>“No, you’re <em>comfortable."</em></p><p>Tifa’s impressed at the disturbing clarity in that stare. Most likely he’d pre-gamed at Godo’s before coming over, because Godo has the good, well-aged stuff that connoisseurs across the continent need an invitation to access.  </p><p>“How much have you had to drink?” </p><p>“As much as I want," Zangan says pompously. He reaches for the half-finished jug of sangria between them -Turtle Paradise's world-famous blend: pineapple, cucumber and starfruit soaked overnight in plum wine, and topped with sake- and pours himself a glass. Tops up Tifa's, too. "Get to my level, and the drinks buy themselves.</p><p>"Is that something I should aspire to?"</p><p>"Absolutely not!" Tifa giggles into her glass as she takes a sip. "Now, as for your rage. There are better, far more productive places where you can channel it, and beating on amateurs should be a jumping-off point, not an endgame."</p><p><em> Rage? </em>   That's a farfetched idea if she ever heard one; Wutai has been nothing but accommodating to her. An almost-home, of sorts.She wonders if her master's losing his touch. “I don’t—”</p><p>Zangan belches loudly to cut her off. Tifa leans back, waving the foul air away. "Oh, pardon me." Zangan chuckles before his expression settles back into its usual seriousness; close enough to be convincingly sober. “Now, Tifa. I need you to listen very carefully.”</p><p>Tifa’s hands curl into fists under the table, doing her best to meet that stare head-on. “Yes. Master.” </p><p>“I know what it is that drives you. Every punch and kick you throw in the kwoon, every grapple. I know, because I saw it in the early years when your father asked me to take you under my wing. And now, most especially in the aftermath of kaiju Phoenix, I have seen the signs of it festering, watching you go through the motions. But know this, Tifa: ‘<em>the oak that tries to contort itself to fit inside the vase, consumes itself and dies</em>’.”</p><p>Consumes <em>what</em>? "I don't-"</p><p>"I‘ll say it plainly then: find a new punching bag. I’m not going to be sixty forever, you know.”</p><p>Not if he keeps drinking like he has a liver ten years younger he isn’t, Tifa thinks. “Are you kicking me out?”</p><p>"<em>What</em>?" Zangan stares at her like she's lost her mind, then reaches into his glass and sprinkles sangria droplets at her, as if to exorcise the notion. Tifa tries in vain to shield herself with a laminated menu. “Of course not! You think I’d leave my best student out in the cold? You'd have better luck asking me to leave a diamond unguarded on my own doorstep.” </p><p>Relief. Tifa drains her iced tea to wash away that unpleasant thought, and shakily pours herself another because the tension hasn't quite eased from her shoulders. Of course Zangan wouldn't leave her behind, <em>he's</em> <em>the who pulled you out of the fire, stupid.  </em></p><p>"Besides, I think you'll find Midgar fighters a more...shall we say, <em>colourful</em>, kettle of fish. Who knows, you might even find someone to <em>talk</em> to." Zangan adds, but in a way that sounds like he's made a bet and has money riding on it. In fact, with the way he smiles at her, she's <em>sure </em>he has money riding on it.  </p><p>"So we're going to Midgar." Tifa's nose wrinkles, almost as if she can smell the smog from all the way out here. </p><p>"Ahh. An old friend is cashing in while this is still ticking," Zangan says, tapping his heart. </p><p>"I thought everyone else owed <em>you</em> favours."</p><p>"Friendship's a two-way street, dear. But that's enough sage-like wisdom for today. And now," Zangan declares, rising out of his seat unsteadily, "I'm going to go raid Godo's liquor cabinet, and then we are going to farewell this tourist trap in style. Oi. Don’t tell Godo I said ‘tourist trap’, he hates it."</p><p>Tifa just laughs. </p><p> </p><p>What Zangan cleverly neglects to tell Tifa—which Tifa has to discern on her own from the blackened fir stumps sticking out of a sea of Nibelheim wild poppies during the drive from the Rocket Town port—is that Nibelheim, the last place in the world she wanted to see, if only to avoid reopening old wounds, had been part of her master’s itinerary all along. She reaches out and turns off the radio. Zangan pauses abruptly mid-song, expression innocent.</p><p>“You said we were going to Costa del Sol,” Tifa accuses. </p><p>“I did.” Zangan nods. “Unfortunately, the last ferry’s already gone by now, and one should never avoid a house visit if one has time for it.”</p><p>House visit her ass. “You tricked me. It’s cruel.” </p><p>“Tricked you how? We still are going to Midgar, we’re just not overnighting in Costa del Sol — that'd cost us each both arms and legs. And it’s not cruel, it’s simply good sense.”</p><p>“It’s...” Still too soon. Still too raw. “I’m not ready to see it,” Tifa says, staring at her lap. </p><p>“Well then, I won’t force you. And I certainly won't remind you that sleeping in a car does less for your back than a couch.”</p><p>So Tifa goes, grudgingly. </p><p>  </p><p>Nibelheim is restored to its former glory, but with the township bereft of most of the families and friends Tifa grew up with, the feeling of alienation overwhelms any relief and happiness she might feel, being united with other survivors. Mostly it's the way they look at her, the words they use - like she's fragile and lost. Someone to be pitied, rather than consoled.<em> 'At least he's in a better place.' 'At least he's in a better place.'</em> Over and over. Tifa breathes a little easier when they finally leave her alone, the smile on her face a little less tight.  She finds her father's name on the memorial plaque standing where the old well used to be and spends the rest of the evening there, tracing her fingers over the letters marking the existence and memory of Brian Lockhart, beloved father and husband, a painful knot twisting in her throat. </p><p>Zangan was right. Wutai was never going to be enough. </p><p>"I'll kill them," Tifa vows between clenched teeth when Zangan eventually makes his way back to her. Zangan drops a hand on her shoulder, but something about it feels equal parts placating and patronising, and she rails against it, shrugging him off.    </p><p>
  <em>"I'll kill every last fucking one of them."</em>
</p>
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